XFiles: The Disappearance of Agent Dale Cooper
by CaptainpH
Summary: One year after the beauty pageant tragedy, Agents Mulder and Scully arrive in Twin Peaks to search for the missing soul of their colleague Agent Dale Cooper
1. Chapter 1

X-File #003 The Disappearance of Agent Dale Cooper

By Captain pH

Chapter One

The large dark green phone receiver was being held to the ear of a ginger-haired woman who wore an eye patch.

"Again...?" she sighed before yelling out: "Sheriff! It's happening again!"

Nadine Hurley's shriek was the reason the bears around Twin Peaks always woke up a month before their regular US counterparts, thought Sheriff Harry Truman, hearing her cry from his office, through three separate office doors and two walls.

The clicking line had begun the day after the Miss Twin Peaks beauty pageant incident, almost a year ago. The telephone company had checked the wires and found no fault. Lucy, now off on maternity leave, had been able to ignore it. Nadine, filling in for Lucy, was more sensitive to the interruption, in turn disrupting everyone else. If there was one thing you could say for the impatient, brisk and, occasionally down-right rude, new receptionist, she kept the crazies and time wasters at bay.

Truman was walking into the reception area to placate Nadine when he saw the car pull up. It was driven by an attractive red-headed woman. The man in the passenger seat was gesturing to her and being ignored. As they stepped out he seemed to finish a sentence that made her roll her eyes.

"Sheriff Truman?" said the man, whose face, Truman thought, was oddly familiar. It was evening, when faces that far away lost their distinctive features in the half-light. The woods surrounding the sheriff's office and car park became all the more blacker, in contrast with the glowing sky, and trailing yellow-fringed clouds. Short hair, feline-like face, long grey mac, exuding an uncalled for confidence – this had to be FBI, thought Truman.

"Sheriff Truman, I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder, this is Special Agent Dana Scully, we're here to investigate the disappearance of Special Agent Dale Cooper."

"Then I suggest you check your files," said Truman curtly. "Special Agent Cooper has been locked up in a Washington psychiatric ward for almost a year. A year since he tried to kill Shelley Johnson. He was a good friend of mine, hell, the man was extraordinary, but I had to shoot him in the leg and pull him off her like he was an animal. You've got my report, why do you want to drag me through this again?"

"Sheriff Truman, I'm sorry to bring this up. I was a friend of Agent Cooper too. There are discrepancies in various reports that you could help us with. And Sheriff, I don't believe that Agent Dale Cooper is locked up in Washington any more than you do...I know about Bob."

The Sheriff took off his hat, ran a hand through his prematurely greying hair and sighed. He invited them in.

Jeez, this Mulder could drone, thought Truman. At least the other agents he'd encountered had dished out their weirdness with a smidgen of sparkle. The three of them sat in Truman's wood-panelled office, Truman behind his desk and Scully and Mulder opposite. She was staring up at the mounted stuffed stag head behind him which bore the words "The buck stopped here."

He was trying not to stare too long into her eyes, but every time she spoke, every word seemed long, like a loop, wrapping around him, pulling him towards her lips, and those eyes. Together with Mulder's voice it was like being interviewed by a hypnotist double act. Mulder did seem like a cut off Cooper's block in some respects. He knew, and genuinely believed in Bob, an evil spirit thought to possess humans, who had taken control of Leyland Palmer in order to rape and kill his daughter Laura. Mulder was also certain that the FBI had doctored Cooper's original reports into the Twin Peak's murders and that the man currently contained in a Washington psychiatric hospital (the exact room once occupied by his partner Windom Earle, added Mulder, as if this added extra weight to a conspiracy) was Dale Cooper in body alone.

Mulder leaned in, lowering his voice so Truman was forced forward to listen.

"I met Special Agent Cooper once, when I was a new agent. The man was an inspiration to me. Whatever, whoever is there now, it's not him."

Truman considered this. "If you're FBI," he said. "How do you know that this is a cover up?"

Mulder leaned back. "We don't all speak with one voice Sheriff. I'd like to know who shot JFK just as much as the next guy. I have a source in the bureau. Let's call them D. They had access to all Agent Cooper's tapes, the ones he took memos on while he was investigating in Twin Peaks. The later transcripts kept in the bureau bear little resemblance to the original tapes, and those originals are nowhere to be found. There's no reference to Bob, to spirits, to the lodges, to any of it. It's recorded as an assault and two murders, plain and simple."

"There was nothing simple about it," Truman interrupted.

"I know. D has explained a lot of what they remember when they transcribed the tapes. D says there was also a gap. Agent Cooper would normally have posted several tapes before he disappeared, but with the events of the pageant, and his...behaviour, it looks like he never sent them. I'm hoping we can find them. Maybe those tapes can help us find out what happened to him."

"I still don't get it. If the bureau wants to cover this up, why did they send you?" asked Truman.

"Let's say our department has a longer leash than most. This investigation hasn't exactly been ordered, and isn't exactly being monitored by the FBI."

Truman was facing Mulder, but trying to keep Scully in view. Mulder had said "our department" but, aside from a few polite questions about the objects in his office, Scully had remained largely silent.

"What department do you work for?"

"Well, the two of us are the department. We work on, what the bureau fondly terms X-files: paranormal, traditionally inexplicable cases. The bureau sent Scully here to join me a couple of weeks ago. She's..."

Mulder turned and gave her a smile. Truman couldn't tell how genuine it was.

"She's keeping an eye on me."

Truman stifled a "beautiful eyes" comment.

"Paranormal?" said Truman shaking his head. "You guys should just move your office next door. These days it's like almost nothing in Twin Peaks is normal. For a year now I've been called out to investigate ghosts, knocking sounds, poltergeists, werewolves, people claiming they're getting messages from hospital food. It's like all mad hell got let loose."

Mulder looked visibly relieved. Scully less so.

"Anyone ever mention aliens?" he asked.

"Not, well, not in the last year, but if it's aliens, then it's Major Garland Briggs you need to speak to. He and Cooper were, well I guess you could say close. They shared a lot of that 'spiritual' stuff. You know they were sort of alike. Really intense in that way. Anyway, he's involved in a lot of classified military stuff. I'm not sure how much I or he can tell you. You guys really aught to speak to him. Maybe he knows about the tapes. The man is a walking X-File."

Truman suddenly realised it was late. Lucy would have normally have come into the office to say goodbye, but Nadine just upped and left. Andy was only working part time and spent most of his time with Lucy. Hawk was off pursuing his own case. When their conversation stopped, the office was silent.

"I suggest you both check in at the Great Northern Hotel. You just follow the road straight around for a couple of miles up the hill. There's a spectacular waterfall there but you'll have to wait until morning to see it." He paused, remembering Cooper's voice, then added: "The rooms are very reasonably priced."

Neither Mulder nor Scully seemed to care. Truman was unsure if this was the bureau holding nothing back on expenses while looking after its own, or that no one in public office seemed to care about their cost to the tax payer any more. Truman would even knock off the mileage on his drive to and from work when doing expenses, even if no one would have noticed otherwise. As the agents returned to their car he saw Mulder eyeing the trees. Part of him wanted to call out "they're Douglas Firs". He didn't want to think about Cooper again and the face he saw when he'd tackled him out in the woods; Shelley screaming and bleeding, part of her ear bitten off. Cooper's face had been all deep lines, like he'd been carved clumsily from wood. Stooping, rolling, growling. Of course Harry knew it wasn't Dale Cooper. The self-assured Cooper had been a leader of men, like the Major. But something about Twin Peaks had done for them both, as if the woods felt threatened by such strength and had sought to cut them down. Both men were left torn out and hollow, pale shells of themselves. He'd initially been disappointed by Mulder and Scully. Well, Mulder at least. But if the forest destroyed strong men, maybe they had a hope.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Mulder awoke in what he presumed was a room in the Great Northern Hotel. Most investigations took him away from Washington DC (despite the demands that the FBI unveil the identities of the capital's lizard overlords) and, every so often, the motels and cases could blur together. Today was not one of those days. Not only did the room present some warm, with individual and friendly characteristics, but he awoke knowing the exact importance and nature of this case. The one thing that puzzled him was the the rapidly fading memory of his early-morning dream which involved an oriental-looking woman hammering to escape from somewhere, her eyes wide with terror, but her mouth opening and closing like a fish. No doubt the bureau shrinks would enjoy that little gem.

The room smelt good, not like the air fresheners and air conditioning of modern hotels. It was the wood panelling; wholesome, protective. For once he just wanted to lie, enveloped in a proper bed. He hadn't thought of Twin Peaks as a holiday destination, but there was a strange, warm, Germanic space here.

He met Scully for breakfast. She too appeared refreshed. The previous night, on learning they were FBI, the receptionist said that the owner's daughter Audrey Horne would want to meet them personally for breakfast. The pair waited.

A young woman in a wheelchair appeared and rolled quickly down the short ramp installed at the side of the small flight of steps leading down from the reception to the dining room. She raced towards them, passing behind the chairs of other guests by inches. As she reached their table, she spun the chair so fast that it continued along the same line of travel, but facing backwards, with the two small front wheels lifting up into the air as she braked.

"Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. I'm so glad to meet you," said a beaming Audrey, whirling around and coming to a halt just beside their table. "Welcome to the Great Northern. I hope you slept well. What can I get you for breakfast?"

To Mulder she seemed surprisingly pleased when he ordered pancakes and black coffee, but her hospitable nature seemed strained when trying to apply the same courtesy to Scully, who just wanted a grapefruit, toast and juice. Audrey brought the two meals to the tables herself, carrying each tray on her lap. As Mulder and Scully began to eat she sat at the end of the table watching, her azure eyes, soft red lips and jet black hair reminding Mulder of a 1950s silver-screen starlet. Scully took two mouthfuls, chewing silently and self-consciously, before turning to Audrey.

Audrey began: "I'm sorry. I know it's your business and everything but let's face it, the FBI are only in this town for one reason, well, OK, one case. I guess there are lots of reasons. It's him isn't it? It's about Special Agent Cooper? God, I miss him so much. I was in hospital when it happened. I wish there was something I could have done."

Mulder was startled. In his brief experience of Twin Peaks, everyone here seemed to speak slowly, but this girl was like a secretary's typewriter. She was wearing a green and blue plaid skirt to just above the knees, black stockings led down to bright red stilettos. Mulder tried to remember if he'd ever seen anyone in a wheelchair wear stilettos before, then realised it was a performance of the Rocky Horror Show he attended about five years back. He couldn't work out if he was looking at a woman trapped in a girl's body or the other way around.

"You knew Special Agent Cooper?" asked Scully.

"Better than most people here. He is, was, whatever, the greatest guy I've ever met. He, well, he sort of rescued me. In more ways than one I can tell you."

"Please do..."

Mulder wasn't sure but Scully seemed a little impatient with this girl. She had stopped eating and was looking straight at Audrey.

"Well, I was trying to help him solve the Laura Palmer case and got myself in a sticky situation. That's all you need to know for the moment. He saved me then but, it was more than that. I guess I owe my life, me, myself to him now. He saw... things differently."

"Did he speak to you much before the incident?"

"Well once Annie came on the scene, he didn't have as much time for me. That's not to say he ever saw me like he saw Annie. I mean, he was always so kind, but he never saw me like that. Anyway, I had my own things going on by that point. We didn't see each other as much. In fact, I can't quite remember the last time we really spoke. The explosion messed up my memory a bit. That's when I ended up in this chair."

Mulder interrupted. "The explosion. I read something about that in the tale end of the case."

"It was a bomb left in a safety deposit box. It killed everyone there except me. I had chained myself to bars in the vault in protest over the bank financing the Ghostwood housing project. The railings partially protected me. It was strange: one of the people who died that day had already been dead for years. Only in Twin Peaks eh?"

Major Garland Briggs was stemming roses along the side of the path leading up to his porch. He was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and a white painter's smock, which failed to hide the belly of the big man. He greeted them courteously.

"Honey, we have visitors. Could you fix up some lemonade," he shouted.

A small face appeared at the window. Briggs turned around and made a stirring motion towards her.

The Major removed his hat as he entered the house. A portion of his blond-ginger hair on the right side of his head was missing. The skin was raw, red and peeling. Scully thought it was a burn injury.

"Knowing Agent Cooper is a privilege," said the Major, after introductions had been made.

"There are few who travel so patiently, so insightfully, so openly, along the path of investigation in this world," he began slowly. Mulder listened, fascinated by Briggs' method of speaking. It was well-crafted, spontaneous and yet complex and formulated. It was the Presidential Voice: a tone of authority and sincerity that the best politicians and leaders sought to emulate, yet Briggs had mastered. Mulder had read several studies and experiments surrounding the Presidential Voice carried out by the US military. It used a mixture of tone and delivery, to part convince, part hypnotise a listener to believing and serving the speaker. Mulder realised that the large middle-aged man sat in front of him in a religious-like white gown, could raise his own army if he wished. Garland Briggs' voice could see him run, not only in Twin Peaks, but the state and possibly the country. It was power itself. But all the man wanted was peace.

"There are schools of Buddhism that say enlightened beings remain on earth to help the path of others, the bodhisattvas, and, were I to subscribe to that particular doctrine, and I freely admit it strikes me as a particularly honourable method of interpreting the universe, I would place Special Agent Cooper among these beings. While many societies frown on close relationships between men, and the limits of the English language do little to allow nuances to describe such relationships, I am happy to admit that I grew to love Agent Cooper. His current plight injures me terribly, both emotionally, and physically."

Mulder and Scully, sat on a couch opposite the Major, both became aware that, as he finished speaking, they were leaning forwards, listening, their hearts beating. Mulder was fascinated, examining the effects of Briggs' speech on himself. Emotionally he completely trusted the man, but that was the point. On an intellectual level Mulder knew that, were Briggs to hide facts, he could. Were Briggs to order them out of the house, they would leave. Were Briggs to order them to turn their guns on themselves, well, who knew? Briggs was the most powerful man Mulder had ever met, and Mulder had shaken hands with two US Presidents and a man who claimed to be a reincarnation of Vishnu.

"Major Briggs," said Mulder. "During his investigation, Agent Cooper made a number of recordings of his thoughts and progress on the Laura Palmer case and subsequent killings in Twin Peaks. I don't suppose you know, or he ever confided to you, the location of these tapes? Just in case anything were to happen to him?"

"No. Agent Cooper involved me in his investigation as and when he needed my skills or information. I was not involved in FBI internal bureaucracy."

"What skills and information did you impart?" asked Scully.

"While initially my work was branded highly-sensitive and confidential, I came to trust Agent Cooper. As I have broken that confidentiality once, feeling that there was no threat to the security of our nation and that it may help to save lives, I have no qualms about doing so again - all the more so if the information may come to help Agent Cooper. I was involved in the study of and contact proceedings for extra-terrestrials in the woods in Twin Peaks."

"Extra-terrestrials?" said Mulder.

"Well, at the time we believed so. There were...communications we were monitoring. Messages that we could interpret, although still not understand.

"Such as?"

"The owls are not what they seem. This is a Formica table."

"Oh."

"Agent Mulder, I should confess that I am more aware of you and your work than I have led you to believe. I am also fully briefed on the activities of Agent Phillip Jeffries, even Chester Desmond – at least as much as the bureau knows of their fates."

"And what do you know?"

"Agent Mulder I am lucky to have survived my experiences in these fields. The more to have survived with my wits, intellect, body and soul intact. Now, I do not mean this in any way to frighten, demean or patronise you: you search for the truth but you are not prepared to recognise it. You are not prepared to experience it. The truth is thirteen dimensional. The truth burns hot and cold simultaneously. The truth is sickly black with dark horror. It is too big and contorted for the most developed and prepared of minds. The FBI, and indeed, humanity, has lost many people in the search for the truth. My experiences of the Waiting Room and the Lodges, when I have been summoned, or voluntarily entered, have given me certain insights. There are many futures coexisting simultaneously, sometimes overlapping, sometimes contradicting, each fighting to unfurl before the eyes of the subject. I hold many visions of the future, several pertaining to this case. At their most extreme, you will triumph, you will free the soul of Dale Cooper, or you will fail, Cooper's soul will be ripped apart, hell will fall to earth and all goodness will be in jeopardy."

Briggs finished, sat back and stared hard at Mulder. Mulder tried not to shift his gaze, but he felt awkward and unworthy.

"Will you help us? Like you helped Agent Cooper?" he asked.

"Agent Mulder, the singular purity of Cooper's soul prevented it from immediate destruction when he entered the Black Lodge. I have seen him distantly out there. He is a person of such rare goodness that his presence will benefit the progress and enlightenment of mankind. The chance that we might be able to rescue him is the only reason that I will not fall to my knees and beg you to get back in your car and drive, without stopping, back to Washington."

"But will you help us?"

"My ability to influence events in this world is not inconsiderable. But these are not events of this world. These futures lining up are competing on a different plane, between beings that would laugh at our definition of the word Super Power. You must also realise that any intervention on my part may not tip the balance to a favourable result for you. I am tainted with a glimpse of the truth, and a glimpse of the truth is a partial truth: a misunderstanding. I know at this moment of only one way in which I could help you. It is imperative that you hold on to this thought as you proceed. Ask yourself this question every time you reach a new junction, any decision, from the mundane: your food, the clothes you put on, to the greater choices that lie ahead. Before every action you take, ask yourself if this is an action of love."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

As they drove to Glastonbury Grove, where Agent Cooper had been shot and arrested whilst trying to assault Shelly Johnson, Mulder and Scully began to talk of Major Briggs and the Lodges. According to D, Cooper had spoken of two lodges, the White Lodge and the Black Lodge – mystical realms where the spirits of the woods could gather for good or evil. Cooper had mentioned visitors from the Lodges, but as far as his reports went, he had never visited. Now Major Briggs had confirmed that Cooper had set foot in the Black Lodge on the night that Annie Blackburn was kidnapped at the Miss Twin Peaks pageant.

It was only 11am, but it seemed to get darker as they drove along the forest road. Mulder parked and stepped out, walking along the soft, dark earth and small rocks that marked the trail into the trees. Behind him, unseen, Scully paused at the edge of the track, where it met the road, smiled to herself and shrugged. She followed. Glastonbury Grove, they had been told, was 15 minutes along the track. The reports of the Cooper incident described a ring of 12 young sycamore trees. While the official FBI reports had painted an accurate picture of the location, they had left out its role. According to Major Briggs, the place was a gateway to the Lodges.

"Mulder, I enjoy a brisk walk through forbidding, damp woods as much as the next girl, but are we looking for something here or just on a pilgrimage?" said Scully.

"The bureau was embarrassed when Cooper was arrested. It was big news. From the information from D it sounds like Cooper's investigation itself, his methods were not the sort of thing they wanted to make public..."

"A bit like the X Files."

"A lot like the X Files. I can't help wondering if there might be something here that would give us a clue about what happened to Agent Cooper. And yes, since you asked, it is a bit of a pilgrimage. Things never seem to end well for Gordon Cole's lot, they are a parallel group to the X-Files. Agent Jeffries, well, if you read some reports he's visited the FBI building twice, at the same time in different places. The guy doesn't know where or when he is. Chester Desmond vanished in a trailer park. Windom Earle, vanished, appeared, went mad, vanished again in Twin Peaks. I'm amazed that Cole copes so well. All his agents run into trouble on "blue rose" cases, according to a guy I know in the department who worked on a case linked to the Twin Peaks murders. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that these fringe FBI groups, things never go well in the end. Maybe one day they'll be another agent out looking for me, or I'll be carving models of Elvis out of mashed potato in a cell somewhere. You should probably bear that in mind with this new assignment."

Scully nodded and began taking notes about the surroundings. It struck her as odd that the clearing smelt of burnt oil, really acrid and grating the back of the throat, but there was nothing there to give off the smoke. There were no scorch marks, no traces of oil, no trails of smoke. The glade was quite attractive, the sort of arrangement you would expect in a public park, it was just missing a bench. The ground felt slightly strange. It seemed to Scully that the glade must be growing on earth sitting on top of a large, flat piece of slate: you could feel the footsteps of other people through your own feet. She watched Mulder walking around the circle and felt the soft bumps of his steps rising through her soles. Something else struck her. Yes, the circle resembled a park because the grass was so short, but no one was mowing it out here were they? She looked closer. The ends of the grass were natural, nothing had been cut, but each blade was uniform. Grass was pretty homogeneous, but she could swear there was absolutely no difference between these blades. It was as if someone had designed one, and simply repeated it across the glade floor. At least the sycamore trees showed signs of variety. Twelve trees. It didn't surprise her that someone had carved tiny zodiac signs into each of the trunks. Mulder was looking out into the woods as Scully walked around the trees, noting the signs. As she approached Gemini she saw a flat, rectangular rock at the base of the tree, like a lid. She knelt down to lift it and felt the ground bump with Mulder's fast-approaching steps. A sharp wind blew the hair from the back of her head forward around her face. "What the.." she mumbled trying to brush it back while turning so see what Mulder was doing. He remained on the other side of the circle, staring into the woods.

The rock lid was surprisingly cold to touch, in fact, it seemed to draw more than just heat out of her. Despite being the size of a shoebox lid her hand felt physically tired after lifting it. Was it heavier than it looked or did she just feel weaker? The lid had laid across a hole in the ground which appeared to be stuffed with a thick plastic bag wrapped so tightly and repeatedly that its clear material has turned white and opaque. Scully whistled and beckoned Mulder's over. Quickly she slipped on a pair of plastic gloves.

"I don't know how old this is. It certainly wasn't mentioned in the report," she said and began unravelling the bag. A chess piece, a white knight, fell to the ground. Mulder picked it up carefully at the edges. Scully continued to unravel the bag, revealing at least that its contents was getting smaller and smaller. When it was about ten centimetres long it seemed that the bag contained a small branch. The last layer unravelled, Scully stopped suddenly, her mouth opening and eyes frowning in disbelief. "Mulder," she said, her voice tinged with distress, and knowing that he was crouched next to her. "I think this is an arm. It's a baby's arm."

Sheriff Truman met them at the hospital. He knew this room too well know. There seemed to be so many bodies piling up in Twin Peaks. Surely there were cops in New York who saw less death in their careers than him. Here was Agent Scully asking him to investigate missing children in the area, babies no less. On the table, a tiny arm: perfectly developed fingers ready to grasp the thumb of a parent, bone protruding from the shoulder.

"I can't tell how old it is," said Scully. "It's been kept in some sort of preservative, that's what gives it the brown colour. The skin was probably originally white, but don't let that limit your investigation sheriff. I'm going to send the arm away for tests, but can we leave the searching to you. You know the local area better and we have our own investigation under way."

Truman was flattered and surprised. It was rare for the FBI to let go of a case they could so easily pull into their remit.

"Sure thing," he said. "I know that no young children have gone missing in Twin Peaks since I've worked here. I'll check the records further back and then start widening out the area."

"Thank you Sheriff, we appreciate that. Agent Cooper had nothing but praise for you in his reports. I know this is always difficult in such a small community, but if you could keep this matter quiet."

She smiled and the sheriff looked down. "Oh Harry," he warned himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"I remember once he said 'this is where pies go when they die'," said Norma Jennings, tucking her blonde hair behind her ear as she served their plates. "I didn't quite get it, but I knew it had to be a compliment, he had such a lovely smile and he only ever said nice things about our food."

It was 2.30pm. Mulder and Scully were eating a late lunch at the R&R diner. Scully's eyes had opened almost as wide as Mulder's yawning mouth as he devoured his burger in three bites.

"That was delicious," he said to Norma.

"How do you know?" asked Scully, raising an eyebrow. "Norma what time does Shelley get in?"

"She was down to work this evening at five, but when I said you were wanting to question her she said she'd come in early. Please be careful with her. She's been through so much already."

"How is she holding up?" asked Scully.

"Well, one dead husband, she was nearly murdered and her boyfriend skipped town. Still, not so bad. The worst thing... I get the feeling she thinks somehow she deserves this."

"What about you?" asked Mulder.

"What about me?"

"Your husband Hank..."

"Is in prison. And no longer my husband. I'm not sure what else you want me to say."

Norma took Mulder's empty plate and disappeared into the kitchen.

"Mulder that was unnecessary," began Scully.

"Yeah, I know. It's just a small town like this. It seems everyone knows something we don't."

The diner was empty apart from Mulder and Scully. Every surface was polished, gleaming cleanliness. The black and white checked floor reflected faces in the black squares. Norma returned and apologised for being so abrupt.

"I saw you looking around," said Norma. "You've seen how quiet it is. It's not just because it's late. It's like this all the time now. When Laura Palmer died, in a strange way it brought the community together, but not for long. It's been over a year now. Little by little things have fallen apart. It's like Laura's death was a crack in the dam, and now, after the pageant and Agent Cooper, the bank bombing, we've all been washed away. There's no one comes here any more: the Briggs, well Bobby's gone, and the Major and his wife we never see. Donna left for LA, Lucy and Andy had their loss. So many people have just disappeared. I mean, at first people would come here to share, but I think so many things came out in those months, people just stopped believing, trusting each other. The mayor died. I don't even think we have another one. Ben Horne has been in Europe for months. Audrey comes here occasionally but it's difficult for her to get around. She used to dance here, it's pretty sad. You asked how I'm holding up? I'm not. I had to sack everyone except Shelley. I couldn't let her go, she's like a daughter. But every month I'm losing money and someday soon, unless this changes I'm going to have to close. My regulars are gone, and even the truckers have stopped coming. Agent Mulder, when Leyland Palmer killed Laura, he killed Twin Peaks."

Norma's words had come slowly, but continuously. She was beautiful, and, dressed in her turquoise waitress uniform, a little coquettish, even approaching 50. Neither Mulder and Scully had wanted to interrupt. Some of the names were familiar to them, others had no mention in their files. Both paused trying to think of a response when Norma said: "I have never known such sadness here."

The door jingled on the arrival of Shelley who smiled at Norma, but looked down as she greeted the agents. Norma excused herself and said she'd make Shelley some coffee. Shelley seemed small, gripping her coat tight to herself. As she took it off she only seemed to get smaller. Her waitress uniform made her look like a teenager, but the edges of her face were dropping to the ground.

"I'm not sure what you want from me. I told the officers everything I knew. I don't, I don't really know what happened."

"Shelley, you don't mind if I call you that," said Scully, "I know it seems strange. But there are things with reports, they get passed through lots of hands and little bits of information, nuances, might get missed out. We just want to hear it direct from you. What happened with Agent Cooper on the night he assaulted you?"

"We'd been visiting Annie Blackburn in hospital, the day after the Miss Twin Peaks pageant. She was beaten up pretty badly. No one ever worked out how. I mean, no one said whether it was... it was only Agent Cooper out there with her that night. Sheriff Truman found them both in the woods. But, anyway, Annie couldn't remember what had happened. She kept saying she had met Laura Palmer and tried to warn her about her death, but Laura didn't listen. You know, I don't think she's ever even met Laura. Well, Annie was telling us both this when she stopped and looked at Cooper, like she was remembering something else. Then she went really quiet. And I looked at Agent Cooper and well... he started humming, not really looking at anyone. He got louder, and Annie looked like she was about to cry and then suddenly he stopped, and he looked at her and he said the weirdest damn thing."

"Which was.."

"I can't remember exactly, but it was something like 'penguins are wearing tuxedos' and then he just said to Annie. 'Whatever you feel is right. Trust no one but yourself.' Then he started humming really loudly but got quieter. Then Annie started looking really frightened, so I thought we'd better leave. I took Agent Cooper by the arm. He resisted a bit but then he turned and looked at me. He seemed normal enough, well, for him. He said he would give me a ride home. We got to the lights at Sparkwood and 21 and they were turning orange, he put his foot down and we went straight through the red. I couldn't believe it, Agent Cooper jumped a red light. Except as he drove I could see him, with the street lights flashing in through the window, god... I can still see it now, his face."

Shelley paused and then continued, slower and more determined.

"That face is why this place is empty. His face just didn't look human. I mean, he had eyes and a mouth and everything but, it was like a mask of evil or something. I started crying and he started screaming at me that I was a slut and should shut-up. He said he was going to tear my arms off and bury me. I was trying to get out but he kept forcing my head down while he was driving so I couldn't find the door. I couldn't breathe. He was so strong and fast. One moment he was in the driver's seat and the next he was pulling me out of the passenger door. He dragged me all the way along the trail to Glastonbury Grove by my arms, sometimes my hair."

She stopped again.

"My husband was a violent man. He used to give me some real beatings. But that just made me angry. I guess I can tell you, because it never actually happened, and because he's dead now, I thought I was going to kill him one day. But that night, with Agent Cooper, I was ready to die. I was in so much pain, everything was happening so fast. I've never felt so helpless, like I was just sliding towards death faster and faster and nothing was there to stop me, nothing to hold on to. No one was there to help me. That was until the Sheriff and Deputy Hawk arrived and shot him."

"Do you remember much about the arrest?" asked Scully.

"No. My head was a whirl, my ears were ringing, I think he hit me round the head a few times. All I can remember is this growling animal sound and then I woke up in the hospital. I knew I'd been beaten up. I know that feeling the day after when the pain starts seeping through the shock. And then..."

Until this point Shelley had been speaking with a determination that seemed to be fuelled by resentment. Suddenly the wall fell and, sitting on a stool by the counter, she began to cry and looked up at Norma. "And then, I did what I always do. I called Norma and you came for me."

Norma's face crumpled and she reached over the bar to comfort the sobbing Shelley, wiping some tears from her own eyes.

The bell jingled as another customer walked through the door. Mulder turned to see a frumpy middle-aged woman enter carrying a log as if it were a child. Long-trained in the internalisation of responses, he raised a mental eyebrow.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

The Log Lady walked over and sat on a stool by Mulder, who was sitting beside Scully, who was sitting by a weeping Shelley, who was currently being comforted by Norma. The Log Lady didn't seem to care, she was studying Mulder.

"My log tells me you are close to seeing. You should take that as a compliment." She cleared her throat loudly and deliberately.

"Sorry Margaret, I'll be with you in just a moment," replied Norma.

The Log Lady, her eyes staring earnestly, outlined by red thick-rimmed glasses that made her look like an owl, continued: "Do you even believe in an immortal soul? A resurrection? You search for belief rather than something to believe in. My log would say that your partner is the believer out of the two of you. You are not a religious man, although there is a spiritual temptation. You lack discipline into such delicate insights and this might explain why today you have nearly killed Agent Cooper.

"I'm sorry?"

"My husband was a good man," continued the Log Lady, as if this revelation was still part of the same conversation, "He may still be. Our worlds suffered greatly on the night of the pageant. Those events have brought a sickness here. Ghostwood has grown to envelope the town. There is still a chance we may restore a balance, that evil may not win out. You are not the only agents working here."

"Phillip Jeffries?" asked Mulder.

"It is best you listen. Bring Cooper's body to the gateway. The ritual is complex and now the white knight has moved, it has been made all the more difficult. You need to do this on the anniversary of the pageant to be sure we are working with the right pieces."

Norma walked over to take her order. The Log Lady stood up, looked her up and down, then turned and walked quickly out of the diner.

"White knight? Does she?" Mulder ran out of the door but saw no one. No cars were driving off. The woman with a log had just vanished.

"Please tell me I didn't just imagine a woman with a log," said Mulder as he walked back in.

"Oh Margaret, the Log Lady? No. Sorry about that. She's one of the real characters around here," said Norma. "You don't see her around as much as you used to either."

"She vanished."

"She does that."

"Scully, can I have a word outside?"

"Did you hear the conversation I just had?" asked Mulder.

"Sorry Mulder I was distracted by Shelley."

"The lady with the log just said our chance to rescue Cooper's soul is in two night's time.

"Rescue? Mulder, hang on. I've been going along with this but, Agent Cooper is alive. Mad but alive."

"Not mad, possessed. What we have is his body. His body is possessed by Bob, and we can bring him back on the night of the pageant.

"So what happens to Bob?"

"I don't know. But if I'm going to get Cooper here in time I need to leave now."

"Seriously? How are you going to get clearance to bring Cooper up here in that time?"

"Gordon Cole will help, I'm sure. There's another thing: the Log Lady mentioned a White Knight. I think she might know something about that baby and the arm. But she's gone. Can you try and find her?

"Mulder, you want to make a return trip to Washington to bring back a madman on the basis of the ramblings of a woman with a log, who has tacitly admitted involvement with infanticide?"

"Yes. But I would really appreciate it if you could phrase it differently when you come to write this up."

"This is insane."

"You know what else she said. She said you're the believer not me. You believe in immortal souls and resurrection."

"I was raised a Catholic but, that has nothing to do with, this is just woods and superstition."

"Scully please, don't leave town. Ask the sheriff for a car. I'll see you in 48 hours."

Mulder got into the car. Scully watched him leave, as he approached the junction the lights turned green. He never needed to stop.

Sheriff Truman walked into the R&R diner twenty minutes after Scully called him from the diner's payphone. She was nursing a small piece of cherry pie.

"The usual please Norma. Agent Scully what happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure. It seems I missed out on a pretty important conversation between Mulder and the Log Lady and now they've both vanished."

"Agent Mulder's vanished?"

"Sorry, I should be more careful with that word around here. Agent Mulder has driven back to Washington to fetch Agent Cooper. He'll be back in Twin Peaks tomorrow evening. The Log Lady knows something about the baby's arm. Apparently she mentioned something to Cooper about the white knight, the piece we found in Glastonbury Grove, she must have put it there. She knew it had been taken."

"Well, yes and no."

"Sheriff?"

"You've doubtless come to realise that there are some strange people in Twin Peaks. But some are stranger than others and some, I would go as far to say, possess... abilities. The Log Lady is one of those. She has helped me with cases, she helped Agent Cooper. She sees things, even though she was not there, or is not there. So, if she mentioned the white knight, it may be innocent enough."

"I understand. At least, I'm beginning to understand. All the same, I'd like to try and find her. Do you know where she lives?"

"Sure, I can take you there right away, but there's something important you need to do first."

"Which is?"

"Finish that pie."

Scully took a long breath through her nose. She realised that Mulder's sudden departure had left her tense. She couldn't work out whether it was deeply unprofessional of him to abandon his partner out in the field, or if it showed a level of trust she was not expecting at such an early stage in their partnership. They had only been working together a few weeks, she certainly felt she had done nothing to earn it from him. For all his foibles, "Spooky" Mulder was one of the most amicable partners she had worked with. It was about respect. Unlike many in the bureau, particularly the men further up the hierarchy, Mulder had started off with complete respect, in spite of their differences. Perhaps she could try and be a little more flexible with him, and besides, this pie was really, really good.

"You know Agent Cooper liked whittling while he was here," said Harry. "He'd been here a couple of days and he just said 'ask me why I'm whittling'. So I did and he said 'Because that's what you do in a town where a yellow light still means slow down, not speed up.'"

"He sounds like an extraordinary man. I never met him, but everyone here has such heartfelt praise for him."

"He was all heart. I'm sorry if I was short with you both when you arrived, but you see how much Cooper meant to people. It was terrible to see him like that and, somehow, I think we all feel a bit responsible. Twin Peaks drove Dale Cooper mad."

"I was just about to say how much I liked it here, but that doesn't exactly make me want to stay. Norma, I have to say, that was the finest cherry pie I have ever tasted in my life."

"Thank you Agent Scully."

"Dana, please. Sheriff, can you take me to the Log Lady's home?"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

They walked together through the forest, both Scully and Truman taking large bold steps.

"Feels good out here doesn't it?" said Harry.

"Yeah, I feel like everything is being cleared out from me. You must be out here all the time. Were you born here?"

"Twin Peaks born and bred."

"And why the name?"

"Well, that'd be my grandmother's fault. She was a seer and she had visions about Truman. The thing about Truman, she would say, is that because so much went on during his presidency, that everybody looks at that period. No one realises that he set the ball rolling for the end of the world, or at least the end of America. Not just one ball, about four."

"So your mother named you after the man that her mother believed had started a chain of events to end humanity?"

"They didn't get along."

"Did she say why Truman has laid the foundations of our destruction?" asked Scully, trying not to make too much fun of the Sheriff's ancestors.

"It was all to do with the sun and the stars according to her. Five point stars, six point stars and a sun. And pressure points on the sensitive earth, she would say. Oh and the bomb. Probably the bomb as well."

They approached the Log Lady's cabin. It was tidy, with new double-glazed windows. Scully walked along the porch decking looking in. The place seemed empty. It also seemed distressingly normal when compared to its owner. There were a lot of books on the walls of the living room. Through the kitchen she saw an entire wall given over to spices and herbs. She had never thought so many existed. They had not been at the place long when they smelt the smoke. Both of them ran around the house looking for the source of the fire before realising that it was not the Log Lady's home which was ablaze.

"Renault's place," said Harry, and began running down a track leading around the side of the hill. Scully followed, unclipping her gun. The light was fading quickly. They were charging through the woods on the dark side of the mountain. Branches snapped and rocks rolled suddenly, threatening to twist ankles or send the runners straight to the floor. Was that the sound of beating wings she could hear occasionally in between her breaths? The Sheriff stopped suddenly at the edge of the clearing, shielding his face from the heat. Scully caught up and squinted, trying to watch the bright fire consume the building. It ran over all the outside walls and surfaces like water, but rushing upwards in purple, red and white ripples. She could almost make out dark patches where the windows would be, behind the wall of flame.

"Have you ever seen a building burn like that?" she asked Truman.

"No, not even the mill and that was huge, and arson."

"You could almost imagine that the building isn't burning, like a biblical illusion. It looks like its just flowing over the top," said Scully. There was a loud crack and the centre of the cabin roof collapsed, pulling in the sides of the roof and pressing down on the walls which bowed and splintered outwards. A cloud of burning air, glowing timber sparks and smoke rolled towards Truman and Scully, who threw him to the floor. It passed over their heads and she held him down, the heat pressing down on the two of them. The intensity of the wave lifted and they looked up, expecting to see the fire taking hold among the tree tops, but all they saw were the final ribbons of flame, tearing up towards the first stars of the evening. Where the cabin had stood there was just a uniform layer of dirt and ash about 10cm deep. Scully let go and sat up. Truman sat up and checked his hat.

"Not a mark on it. Can't say the same for my hip though. That's one hell of a tackle you've got there."

Scully smiled. She hadn't paid much attention to where exactly she was grabbing the Sheriff when she had pulled him to the ground. What she had accidentally groped had caused her to think exactly the same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Scully dreamt. It was one of those dreams where you're sure you're awake. In fact, you only realise it is a dream when you do finally wake up. Oh, and when you see a giant. But a giant in a dream is perfectly normal, so that still doesn't help you realise you're dreaming.

"Hello," said the giant, in a kind voice that sounded German, or Eastern European.

"Hello," replied Scully.

"The baby will cause problems for you, problems between you. Winter is here. Best let things rest and recover. Some here play cards, some here play chess, no one here will win. The truth will become less important to you than love. This is your salvation. The fire fears to touch you, but the wood feeds it still. Remember this when you wake up."

Breakfast, alone in the Great Northern. Well, not alone. Scully was surrounded by hotel guests. Dressed in a white blouse and blue trousers with a crease that could cut fingers she felt alone among the crowd of thick woollen sweaters. No car, no partner, but a good breakfast. She toyed with a yoghurt and looked up to see a bearded, chubby man, who stood out in a slightly mismatched suit and tie, walking down the steps towards her. He extended his hand, introducing himself as Edgar Fitzpatrick, a freelance reporter, and sat down without asking.

"Agent Scully, I don't expect any great scoops here, or confidential information. This is all off the record. Anything we say from this point will never see print. I'm saying this now, because I want to have a proper conversation and I don't want you thinking I'm stitching you up. No recorders, no interviews."

The man spoke very fast, earnestly, almost gabbling, but Scully sensed his sentiments were genuine.

"Mr Fitzpatrick. I appreciate that, but I'm still not that comfortable talking with reporters. It runs pretty much counter to common sense for investigators. You have to wonder what the benefit is for us."

"Normally Agent Scully I would completely agree with you, but for once, you could benefit from the sheer amount of information I have that you don't, and I benefit from the fact that you are an intelligent woman of sound mind who might help pull me out of the psychological mess that Twin Peaks has left me in."

"Sounds like the beautiful basis of a friendship to me Mr Fitzpatrick. What have you got?"

"Well, I guess you guys are focussing on Cooper. I mean, that was the case that originally got the media interested in Twin Peaks. You know there is no local newspaper here? So the deaths of Laura Palmer and Maddie Ferguson got missed. It was old news before anyone knew anything about it. When I found out about them, I started looking into the other stuff.

"What other stuff?"

"You mean beyond a Special Agent turning into a violent maniac? The local mill was burned down in an arson attack. The bodies of at least two known drug dealers have been found in those woods. The bank was blown up. Does the name Packard mean anything to you? Local notables but they are surrounded by death and disappearances. The last mayor, my god the man was like 104 years old and he died while jumping some girl in her twenties. Ben Horne, the hotel owner, he's hardly of stable mind, they tell me he once convinced himself he won the civil war for the south. Which makes you wonder a bit about attitudes in this town. It's not exactly brimming over with minorities."

"Well, if it was brimming over, they would hardly be minorities would they? Where are you from?"

"Washington DC. Most of my work is for the Post. I mean you get some stories around there but really, this town is something special. It's almost like anyone in a position of power or authority gets cut down. It's not even as if its a conspiracy, it's not like one person seems to benefit, it's like it's the very town itself doing the job each time.

"Sounds a little, fantastic, even for newspapers."

"Exactly. I think I'll write a book about it, but for the moment I'm doing a piece on the town one year on. One year after Laura, Maddie and Dale Cooper."

"Who have you spoken to?"

"Most people here. You would be surprised but a lot of people wanted to talk about the events. I think it even helped them. Made it feel a bit more important, that someone was taking an interest. Someone other than the law that is."

"Well, I don't know that I agree with the idea that something is only important because the media are covering it. Did anybody mention anything about tape recordings?"

"No you're right, but people can feel as if they are being ignored when something important isn't being covered. So we're pretty much damned both ways. Apparently Laura Palmer made some tape recordings for the town shrink, is that what you mean?"

"No, some other tapes. Is Twin Peaks really that important to you?"

"I've been here for two weeks, and I was travelling up off and on for the past year or so. There are times I've convinced myself that Twin Peaks might just be the centre of the world... but that's usually when I realise I need a holiday."

"Mr Fitzpatrick, did you ever have any strange dreams while you were here?"

"Hell yeah, all the time. Sometimes I think its the spirits of the town, or the woods, or just the general weirdness seeping into my head. Other times, I just think it's the altitude."

"Interesting..."

Sheriff Truman walked quickly down the stairs towards Scully's table.

"Edgar, hi, how are you? I see you guys have finally met. I wondered how long it would be before he was on to you," said the sheriff, who seemed on good terms with the reporter. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"

Scully beckoned for him to sit down, while Truman nodded to Fitzpatrick that now was the moment to leave. He sauntered idly up the stairs, with the air of a man who had actually completed the hardest task of the day. Over the shoulder of Sheriff Truman, Scully watched as he scratched his beard and walked out of the reception.

Sheriff Truman leaned over the table towards Scully and said quietly: "The Miss Twin Peaks crown has gone missing." Then he added with a grin: "Want to help me find it?"

Scully smiled, thinking she had just fallen into a Nancy Drew mystery. As Mulder had the car, and the other leads of her case were all dried up, sure, why not?

The crown, said Truman, was normally kept in a cupboard in the Twin Peaks town hall. The organisers had called that morning to say it was gone, but they couldn't be sure when it was taken. "All they found in its place was this note," said Truman reading from a small piece of paper, "I should have known from the tattoo on her left leg, and the garter on her right, she'd have the card to bring me down, if she played it right."

"Terrible scanning. Who rhymes right with right?" said Scully.

The note was written on thick writing paper, in neat, but fancy handwriting: black ink from a fountain pen.

"Well Sheriff, first thing we ask is... do you know any girls in Twin Peaks who match that description?"

Truman smiled, pretended to mull the question and began counting on his fingers before replying: "None."

"Well, that's a little disappointing. I suppose that would have been a bit too easy. At a guess I'd say it probably is a reference to someone in the Miss Twin peaks competition. Do you know who is in it this year?"

"We don't know the contestants until they show up on the day. This year, well. I can't see Audrey running, it would be too strange if she won. Nor Shelley. Harriet Hayward perhaps."

The Sheriff stopped and looked suddenly sombre.

"How can we win Scully?"

"Sorry?"

"Miss Twin Peaks. Not us to win it. It was a fun event. It got the community together. All the girls would enter. It was supportive and nurturing. But if all you need is one act to destroy it, and years to pick up the pieces, how can good people ever win?"

"Sheriff. Harry, by doing nothing we're certain to lose. But I think you're getting wrapped up in nostalgia. Beauty pageants are not supportive events. Maybe you feel supportive for the girls up there, but you can't even see the girls who aren't. They are bullied, fat, too, bookish, or ginger... if you get the picture." Scully looked him straight in the face. "Now I don't want to be that city-dweller who comes up from Washington to tell you what to do and how to live. But just because Twin Peaks is a small community, does not mean that everything you do here is essentially wholesome and good. Perhaps that's what the killings and the attacks opened up. You see that stag's head in your office with 'The buck stopped here'? Sheriff, why did that beautiful creature have to die and be made the butt of a joke? Laura Palmer, the prom queen, was a drug addict and an escort girl, Teresa Banks too. Shelley Johnson was beaten up by her husband. Sarah Palmer lost her daughter and husband in quick succession and no one even talks about her. Has anyone even seen her in the last few months? I know this is in an impression formed in just a few days, but Sheriff, why are the victims always women? Is this place run by a boy's club? Now, Harry, don't doubt that you are a good man. But don't let doubt stop you asking questions about goodness."

Sheriff Truman looked away, and blew air out through his cheeks in an almost-angry but resigned sigh. He took off his hat, ran his hands threw his hair and replaced it. He looked ready to say something, but caught himself.

"Sheriff, let's go find the crown. If we don't know who's entering this year, let's presume no one else does for the moment and start to look at previous winners."

"You ready for some more pie? Because our next stop is the R&R and Queen Norma."

There's something about this pie, thought Scully. I wasn't even hungry when I walked in, but one whiff and I'm eating it again.

The R&R was empty apart from Norma, Truman and Scully. Truman was nursing a pot of coffee.

"Norma, what do you think about Miss Twin Peaks?" he said.

"I'm looking forward to it Sheriff, of course."

"I mean not the event, well, yes, the event, but the whole thing, the idea."

Scully looked up, she could see that this conversation was for her benefit, so could Norma.

"Miss Twin Peaks? Well, I guess it's a bit old-fashioned these days, sure. But so is the town. Personally it's done a lot for me. When you're a young girl it's a real confidence booster. You know what, everyone remembers I was Miss Twin peaks all those years back. But I only won twice. No one remembers that I entered four times. But even when I didn't win, just preparing myself to get on that stage taught me a lot about bravery and confidence. Now I'm a judge I make sure I speak to all the girls before and after the competition."

"What about the girls who are too scared to enter?" said Scully.

"You can't force people to take part Agent Scully. Those that do, who put themselves forward, find a strong, supportive audience. Those that don't aren't valued any less, but it's true they are seen less. It's not for everyone, but really, no one is going to think badly of you for taking part, or not taking part. Some girls come into their own later. For me, taking part did a huge amount for my confidence. I bought this place myself and turned it around. Until last year the R&R was doing really well. I built up the reputation, I worked hard and I employed two women to help me out. I'm not a waitress here, I'm the owner."

Scully jumped in at the pause.

"Norma, I'm sorry to butt in but I'm worried you're taking offence. Just before we came here Sheriff Truman referred to you as 'Queen Norma' and that's pretty much how I saw you when we came in here the other day. The way Shelley looks up to you, the way you have built this place up, that's really something. And you'll go down in history for your cherry pie. Let's just say we come from different places when it comes to beauty pageants and move on. Although, we have actually come here on Miss Twin Peaks related business."

Harry told Norma about the missing crown, showed her the note and asked her if she knew the description. Norma laughed. "Who would have thought Hank would come in useful to you one day, sheriff," she replied.

"Hank?" asked Scully.

"My ex-husband. He's back in prison thank god. He's an AC/DC fan, used to play them all the time. That's a song, not a description of a contestant. Just need to think of the title."

Sheriff Truman leaned across the counter as Norma hummed to herself. She looked him in the eyes, opened her lips slightly, and said softly: "She got the jack."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"I really appreciate your help on this Agent Scully. You sure must have some clout back in Washington to get us across the border this easily," said Truman.

The pair were sat towards the back of a small speedboat, travelling along the river from Twin Peaks to One-Eyed Jacks, a casino-cum-brothel situated on the Canadian side of the border. Driving the boat was a Mountie, who disappointed Scully by dressing in boring, practical law enforcement gear, and not the bright red shirt, black boots and brown hat she had been hoping for.

"We'll see how long that lasts while I'm on the X-Files," she said. "Between you and me sheriff. It's not the best move for my career. But they asked me to do it, so a year or so and then I'll see."

"You know, I wondered that when you first arrived with your partner. He seemed to accept all these ideas about evil spirits, souls and hidden rooms so easily. You didn't say anything, but you're not like him."

"I believe there is a rational explanation for irrational phenomenon, pure and simple. You can talk to me about evil spirits and bad luck, and I can tell you about the limited human capacity for accurately judging chance, outcomes and coincidence. I can tell you about the personality of psychopaths and other mental disorders, both among those reported to be, well, let's say people of special powers, and those witnessing these strange phenomena. If you look for the weird, you will find it. If you look for the rational, you'll find that as well."

"Scully, I'm going to warn you on this one. While, I don't for one moment question or doubt your skills and intelligence, you have not been with Mulder for long. Now, I don't agree with Mulder either. Like you say, he is looking for proof of a truth he has already decided. He wants the weird and you are the opposite. Me, I'm stuck in the middle. I don't want the weird. I want the normal. I want a quiet life, with normal events, with rational explanations, but even before Dale Cooper arrived in this town we knew this was not the case. If you live in Twin Peaks then being superstitious is being rational. Once you have seen enough inexplicable happenings, no matter how much you don't want to believe, the evidence is all there. Mulder wants to believe and does, I don't want to believe, but do. You Scully, if you stay with the X-Files you will be presented with a mountain of the irrational: miracles, nightmare beings, evil, fractures in time and reality, and I just think that one day, you will believe as well."

Minutes later the Mountie cut the throttle and the boat slid silently next to the quay. A young woman dressed in a long coat was there to greet them. She helped them tie the boat up, politely introduced herself as Jessica and took them inside to the bar. A lady in black stood behind the bar. She looked like a widow, pale faced and angular, but her dyed black hair and red lipstick broke this impression.

"Officers, how can I help you?" she asked formally.

"We need to carry out a search for an object we believe was stolen from Twin Peaks," said Truman. The Mountie handed over the papers.

"What is it?" said the woman in black, reading over the documents. "Perhaps I can help."

"A crown."

She laughed, as if the sheriff had just said something particularly stupid. "Oh my. In all my time, we've never been accused of theft before, let alone such a prized jewel. Try the royal suites, the king and queen suites. Seems the most obvious place to start. Jessica will show you."

Jessica had taken off her coat, revealing a black and white maid's outfit. The skirt flared, pushed up by several lace petticoats. She drew back a red felt curtain and beckoned them to follow. The corridor was lined with red velvet. Framed pictures on either side showed black and white shots of posing naked figures, tastefully shadowed. The hallway smelt lightly of apples. They toured the King's Room. The bed was larger than king size. A giant could sleep on that, thought Scully. Each post was carved to resemble a card suite. In the middle of the large room, opposite the bed, was a bath, seated on four tall golden feet, with a tall shower attached. The whole bathroom ensemble was placed in a large porcelain basin, about eight feet in diameter. Steps seemed to float about the basin floor, carrying an occupant up to slide gently into the bath. Around the room, were tall rectangular mirrors, set back into the walls, between them, alcoves with golden brackets attached to the wall. Placed in front of one wall was a moveable five-foot partition, depicting, incongruously, a wholesome pre-Raphaelite country scene of a couple reclining next to a flock of sheep. There were few places to hide a crown, except inside the two large wardrobes on one wall. Scully rolled back the door of both and laughed, slightly embarrassed.

"Sheriff Truman do you see a crown in here?"

Truman crossed the floor quickly but stopped suddenly and started coughing when he looked properly at the exotic contents of the wardrobes. One of the few accessories he could not see, among probes, restraints and costumes, was the Miss Twin Peaks crown.

The Queen's Room was the same size, but the walls were plain white. Rows of coloured lights placed around the walls showed that the room could be controlled to change or cycle through colours. The bed was not at large as the King's Room, but was a four posted models, built out of ebony, with black silk sheets and purple velvet curtains. The two large wardrobes contained the same content plus one addition.

"The crown," said Harry, pulling a small, silver tiara out from one of the wardrobe shelves.

"That's odd," said Scully. "I actually never thought we'd find it. Ever since we arrived we seem to throw up more problems and questions than we solve."

"Don't speak too soon. There's a note attached. It says, 'Will you sacrifice your queen to save a knight'?"

"You know, you're right. That was too simple. Jessica, do you know how this crown could have got here?"

"I've been here all day and no one else has been here."

"It may not have been today."

"In that case, it could have been one of the girls who work here who stashed it," she replied, but didn't seem to care. "Or one of the clients."

"Would you know who?"

"Sheriff, are you serious expecting me to name names of customers and girls, ruin reputations on the basis of a stupid tiara, that you now have. Well sure, just set me up with a new job, oh and a new name and identity please because this one won't be worth anything afterwards. I'll give you one clue for free. This room is usually used by ladies who like ladies. Beyond that, you get nothing."

"Any heavy metal fans?" asked Truman, knowing the pointlessness of the question. He turned to Scully, who was idly stroking the sheets.

"What? I might invest in some myself," she said, raising her eyebrows. "Sheriff, someone wanted us out of Twin Peaks, or at least distracted. I suggest we give up trying to find out who brought the crown here and get back asap to find out why."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Mulder was on his way, expected to arrive about 10pm. That was the message at the sheriff's office when Truman and Scully returned at 9.30pm. Nadine had closed up and left the note on his desk. Even her handwriting looked angry. The pair sat in silence until Scully looked out of the window. The clouds had parted, and the full moon had turned the surrounding wood silver.

"I'm going to get some air," she said, picking up her coat and heading for the door.

Truman sat for a moment and followed her out. She stood on the steps to the building wrapped in a long light coat, hugging herself in the cool air. Truman swallowed. When he first saw her, he knew she was beautiful, but in this light she looked like a statue: her face so smooth and captivating that an artist had carved it into stone for posterity. Scully sensed he was looking at her but made no movement. The air was still and the only clouds in the sky were made by the stars. There was no sound from the woods. Time had stopped.

The silence was broken by a distant engine approaching quickly. Scully was slightly surprised to discern the outline of an ambulance behind the headlights just before the vehicle swung into the car park. Mulder jumped out of the driver's seat and stretched. The back doors were thrown open from the inside and another agent jumped to the ground, breathed heavily, bent over and looked like he was about to be sick.

"Albert are you OK?" said Mulder, walking over and giving him a firm, perhaps too firm, pat on the back.

"Two hours of winding mountains roads that haven't been surfaced since the moon landings and no windows, yeah, sure Mulder I'm just singing dandy," said the man, keeping his head low.

"He still sedated?" asked Mulder, indicating inside the ambulance.

"I put him under about 15 minutes ago. He should be totally out for a good hour or so."

"OK, we'll get him in when you're ready."

Mulder walked towards Scully and Truman. His face looked tired, except for his eyes, which were darting like an insect.

"Did you miss me? Scully, Sheriff, this," he beckoned at the agent who was now standing upright, taking in big gulps of air, "is Agent Albert Rosenfield. He was a colleague of Agent Cooper and he's here to help guard him."

"We've met," said Truman. "How you doing Albert?" He put his hand up in a single wave. Albert nodded and carried on stretching and breathing heavily.

A few minutes later they lowered Agent Cooper out of the ambulance on a stretcher. He was sleeping, his face relaxed, except he seemed to be smiling. His hair was silver in the light. As they wheeled him across the gravel car park, the forest erupted into sound. It seemed every living animal woke up and began to cry. There were howls, barks, hoots and screeches. The trees began to shake with life, but no creatures would venture into the moonlit car park. Scully could see shadows moving between the trunks, or jumping between branches. The sheriff's office was surrounded by a ring of black creatures, eyes looking in, surveying them. The forest was watching the return of Agent Cooper. Scully was alone in believing that the sleeping body of an FBI agent would create this reaction. The three men thought otherwise. Killer Bob was back in Twin Peaks.

Once Cooper was installed in a cell, Albert turned to them. "Here are the rules: You never untie this man. You never engage him in conversation. He needs to be watched at all times. None of these rules must be broken or you endanger your lives, the lives of others, your careers, but most importantly, my ass. I will take first watch. The happy bunch here can work out who relieves me in four hour's time, and who follows after that. Mulder, I suggest you find whatever tree-hugging witch you need to do whatever magic it is that will bring Cooper back. Sheriff, I'll have the keys please."

"Good to have you back Albert," said Truman and tossed him the batch. "I'll run you guys up to the Great Northern."

"Sheriff, let me buy you a drink. You too Scully," said Mulder as they got out of the car. The entertainment hall of the Great Northern was already partially decorated in preparation for the Miss Twin Peaks competition. A banner had been hung across the stage and a catwalk built out into the centre of the room. The three of them sat at the bar at the back of the room, nursing beers.

"I just want to thank you both for putting up with some pretty unorthodox behaviour. Sheriff, I get the feeling you're probably used to it, but Scully, thank you especially."

"OK Mulder, you can have this one," she said.

Truman suddenly laughed. "Oh lord I've just got it." He laughed again and squinted at Mulder. "I remember now. Now I see you sitting at this bar I know who you remind me of. There was an agent who visited this place. An ex-partner of Cooper. He, well, actually, she, well, actually I'm not sure. He was a guy, but he liked wearing dresses, so he looked like a woman, but, y'know...tall. What was the name? Denis, Denise? Well, hell, he, she, looked the spitting image of you. They could have been your sister."

Mulder winced and said nothing. Scully laughed. "There's a transvestite FBI Agent who looks like Mulder?" She turned to him. "Are you sure it wasn't you?"

"I think I'd remember," said Mulder, his usual humour absent.

"You don't have a sister in the bureau then?" said Scully.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Scully, Sheriff, enjoy your drinks. It's been a long drive and I'd better get some sleep. Could you guys relieve Albert and I'll take over from whoever is there in the morning."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"The wood screamed when you came back," thought Mulder, looking at the sedated face of Agent Dale Cooper. "What is going on in there?" he thought. It was getting close to 10am and Albert was due to take over watch. Over the last three days Mulder had had so little sleep that thinking was becoming difficult. He felt like half his brain had been removed when he thought about the case. It was simple enough: the Log Lady had told him to bring Cooper back to Twin Peaks in the hope that his soul could be released. Cooper was here now, but there was no sign of the Log Lady. Whatever was happening needed to take place tonight. It was the Miss Twin Peaks contest, one year since Windom Earle had attacked. It was full moon and already someone had been placing ritual pieces in Glastonbury Grove. Something was happening, but he needed it explaining to him, and every minute that passed made this explanation more urgent. Truman had already passed by her cabin that morning and there was still no sign of her. He didn't know what the ritual was, and the warnings of Major Briggs were enough to make him worry about trying it himself. The window was closing and the options were narrowing. Mulder realised that soon they would have to wake up Cooper. What was he smiling at?

_This time would be different. This time she knew the father. She kept telling herself that this time would be fine. There would be no death, only life. She knew it was coming. _

Scully came downstairs at midday to the Great Northern's dining room. She still felt tired. She was staring at the top of her coffee, watching the steam rise when a shriek tore through the building from the lobby.

"Ohhh my god it's sooo good to seeee you!" yelled a black-haired girl, dropping her bags in the hotel lobby and running towards Audrey Horne. She bent down hugged and kissed her head.

"Donna, I didn't know you were coming," said a shocked but happy Audrey. "Tell me all about LA. Come on, Karen will sort your bags, let's hit bar."

Scully scanned the room. The reporter Fitzpatrick was seated alone at one table. Was he staying here now? She didn't recognise anyone else, just a sea of patterned knitwear. What were they supposed to do? They had arrived in Twin Peaks looking for some tapes, now somehow Mulder had got a mentally-ill, potentially psychotic agent out of hospital and brought him up for a ritual that no one knew how to carry out. A voice inside her was telling her to walk away and she recalled the advice of Major Briggs. "Are you doing this out of love?" She just seemed to be doing it out of confusion, perhaps duty, a confused sense of duty.

_She knew this would be the day. This time last year the lights went out. She had thought "the lights are going out" and then the lights had gone out. Here the lights were bright, the corridors white and it smelt so clean, like Douglas Firs._

"Here's the plan," said Mulder. The four of them were gathered in the navy grey corridor outside the cell where Agent Cooper lay. Scully leaned back on a wall, her weight pressed on her shoes, Albert, who had just finished his second shift, sat in a chair, his legs apart, clasping his hands, Truman held on to the cell bars, starring in at his former friend.

"We bring Cooper to the Great Northern Hotel for the pageant. He stays in the ambulance under Albert's dutiful care. Scully, Sheriff, we just have to keep our eyes pealed during the competition. We need the Log Lady, or if you see anything strange..."

"Unlike a woman cradling a log," interrupted Scully.

"Noted. If you see anything stranger, maybe even strange on a Twin Peaks level."

"Could you be a bit more precise?"

"No. I don't know what we're looking for, what is going to happen. But I just feel that something will."

Everyone nodded, because they all shared that feeling.

_Hold my hand Pookie, I'm not scared, but when you do it, I feel better. You and me, in front of God and everybody._

"No one's entered the pageant." Norma looked distressed. It was 7.30pm and the first of the audience were arriving. Staple town couples, the Fishers, the Browns: observers and guardians of local life in general. Mulder and Scully watched from the walls. The large dining room had been decorated with dark green table cloths and white napkins. Black and white waiters and waitresses hovered. Some patrons stood at each end of the bar at the back of the room, leaving a significant gap between the two women cackling at the centre. Audrey and Donna had been drinking there since midday.

"I can't believe you came back," said Audrey, "this town sucks. I mean look at this, there's no one here, and this is the highlight of the night life. The event of the god-damn century."

"Oh shit tell me about it," said Donna, "but believe me I'm not here for the night life. Hey, actually I needed a break. LA is exhausting. We just wrapped up filming five days ago and I thought 'what the hell, why not?'"

"So, what's is like working with David Lance?"

"Oh my God he's lovely. He's just so calm all the time, but Jesus Audrey, this film is fucked up. Mum's going to be furious when she sees it!"

"Oh Donna you didn't."

"Sure I did, and with Kurt Mclouglin, on camera... and off."

They collapsed into shrieks attracting stern looks from village elders who were gradually filling up the hall. Sheriff Truman approached Mulder and Scully.

"All looks pretty ordinary, except no one knows what we're going to do for a show. There's no one here. Norma's pretty upset about it," he said. "Woah. Hold on."

Truman was looking at a group of guests bunching at the top of the stairs. A thin figure dressed in black was making her way slowly, frailly down, gripping the handrail.

"Sarah Palmer," muttered Truman.

Scully couldn't tell if Sarah Palmer's black outfit was evening wear for the occasion, or the sign of a woman still in mourning. It clung to her stick-like frame, her cheeks sunken, her eyes bulging cartoon-like out of her tight skull. She began shuffling from the base of the steps towards Truman, Scully and Mulder when a figure rushed to help her.

"Mrs Palmer. Sarah, how are you?" said Donna, gently taking hold of her arm. She was suddenly sober, filling up with memories and feelings of events she had tried to escape. Sarah's eyes blinked, not quite recognising her, until suddenly her face widened and her mouth creased into a small smile.

"Oh Donna. Donna, so grown up. Such a beautiful young woman," she whispered, laying her head on Donna's breast. Donna held her, all the work of a year of escape to the other side of the country, of drink, of sex, undone as pain and tears rose from her hot, beating heart. The woman had lost her daughter, Donna's best friend, at the hands of her father. They held tightly to each other, silently.

"Help me to those people," said Sarah looking up into Donna's wet eyes. They shuffled over to Mulder, Scully and Truman. From the bar Audrey wheeled herself across the room towards Donna and the group, her eyes rolling in mischief.

_Pookie. Something is happening, Pookie. I think it's starting. I'm ready for the pain. Ready now._

Sarah Palmer spoke slowly, her voice low in her throat. "I have a message from Agent Cooper. I think it's him. The voices are so confused. It is so noisy there now. It feels... I think hell is escaping."

Her wide eyes narrowed suddenly, her brow tensed in confusion as her lips parted slightly.

"Donna!" cried Audrey, waving the Miss Twin Peaks crown. "Queen Donna! Why not? You are the queen of this dump. You deserve this." She reached up and dropped the crown on Donna's head. Everyone was still staring at Sarah Palmer when a man's voice, calm and authoritative, came from her mouth.

"Killer Bob has escaped," it boomed. Then the lights went out.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Sarah Palmer screamed, suddenly reverting back to herself. She carried on screaming. People in the dark room were beginning to panic. Scully followed her line of sight to a window on the other side of the dining room. Something moved in the silver light, like a mane of hair, but nothing she could make out. Scully and Mulder whipped out torches, whirling them round the room.

"Sheriff, stay here," shouted Mulder, "I'm going to check on Albert."

Scully followed him, pushing through people stumbling blindly in the dark. They ran through the lobby and reached the ambulance outside. The doors were open and Albert sat inside, half propped up on the stretcher, holding a blood soaked bandage to a bleeding head wound.

"It was the damn Log Lady," he said. "She came round. Muttered something weird and Cooper just sprang up. Snapped the restraints and everything. Then she whacked me round the head with her log and I went down, well, like a log."

Car tyres spun in gravel, before a vehicle sped away from the Great Northern Lodge car park. Mulder and Scully turned to watch it leave.

"Dammit. Scully, grab the car. I'll get the Sheriff. Albert, I'll get someone to drive this thing, and you, to the hospital."

Mulder raced inside, nearly running into Sheriff Truman heading in the other direction. Over the Sheriff's shoulder he saw the lights were back on in the dining hall.

"Donna is missing," said the Sheriff, exasperated. "No one saw what happened." They jogged back into the hall. Audrey was crying. Sarah Palmer sat in a chair staring. Norma was pacing around, angrily tearing down the decorations. Audrey joined in, grabbing the table cloth next to her and pulling, scattering and smashing glasses on the floor. Truman grabbed Norma.

"Norma! I know you're upset but we need your help. There's an injured man in an ambulance outside. Can you drive him to the hospital?"

For a moment Norma seemed to hang in another world. Then she nodded, turned and asked Audrey to look after Sarah.

Scully was in the sheriff's car waiting as Truman and Mulder ran out of the building.

"Donna Haywood is missing. We need to get to Glastonbury Grove now."

The two men were flung back in their seats as Scully pulled away, sirens on, and accelerated down the driveway, headlights piercing into the dark of Ghost Wood.

_Pookie, did I hear Norma's voice out there? What's she doing here? And Agent Rosenfield? Is something happening? Why isn't she at the pageant? Did the lights go out again? The lights must have gone out again. These drugs are making my head funny, there's a big white horse in the room, and a mean ol' owl._

They could hear shouting from further up the trail, towards Glastonbury Grove, as they stepped out of the car. Mulder led the way along the path. The trees blotted out the moonlight, leaving only the beams from their torches slipping between trunks to light the way. As they approached the clearing they saw a fire burning in its centre. The Log Lady stood behind it, Donna lay one side, and Agent Dale Cooper they either. Neither were moving. Mulder, Scully and Truman looked at each other in the shadows. The flames cracked and the Log Lady's voice drifted through the trees, speaking an unknown language. Another voice called out:a commanding tone above the chanting and crackle of the fire: "Margaret!"

The three looked on as Major Briggs stepped out of the shadows and into the circle of sycamore trees, next to Donna's body.

"Margaret, this is not the way," he said.

"Sacrifice a queen to save a knight," she replied. "Although she is a black queen indeed, and he is the whitest of knights. We have to return the balance."

"Margaret the imbalance has twisted you," shouted the Major. "I cannot allow this. You've become misguided. This sacrifice is an act of blood, not love, can't you see?"

He ran towards her and the two began to grapple over a jar carried by the Log Lady. Mulder ran into the circle of trees, closely followed by Scully and Truman. All three began shaking. They lost control of their limbs which flopped uselessly by their sides. They stared, paralysed at the shifting scene in front of them. Mulder's head shook violently, like strong hands were forcing him to look. He saw a great white horse lying on its side. In the centre of the fire lay a bearded lumberjack, but he wasn't burning: he seemed to be generating the flames. The hands of the Log Lady and the Major were moving faster, each trying to break the grip of the other. The motion began to blur. Donna and Agent Cooper sat upright and began to hum. Their eyes stayed shut. The humming got louder and the flames began to lick around the shifting hands of the Major and Log Lady. They continued to stare intently at one another as their hands blackened. The bodies of Cooper and Donna lifted their heads to the sky suddenly, emitting a scream, their eyes now wide open. Mulder winced. He wanted to turn away, but he could not move. He felt sick, and shook again. An owl burst from the wide open mouth of Dale Cooper.

Scully's head was twisted up, as if her hair had been pulled down. She could not see anything: no stars, no clouds, no moon: just black emptiness on the roof of the world.

Truman felt his eyes cast backwards and forwards in time. He saw the formation of the mountains that gave Twin Peaks its name. His vision sped through millions of years. He saw the end of the world and knew whether it was the fault of his namesake or not. Then he forgot.

The Major and the Log Lady dropped the jar and both vanished the moment it touched the floor. The fire rose up, off the ground pouring rapidly into space. Scully, Mulder, Truman, Cooper and Donna slumped heavily to the ground. An owl shrieked and swooped into the darkness.

Scully, Truman and Mulder awoke at the same time, staring up at a fat silver moon that hung right above the clearing. The Log Lady's log lay in the centre of the circle, Donna was sat up, weeping quietly. Agent Cooper was dead.

At the hospital Lucy Moran sighed with sore relief. Her two babies were healthy. After the miscarriage, just months after pageant incident, she and Deputy Andy Brennan now had two beautiful twins, a boy and a girl.

Agent Albert Rosenfield, a bandage around his head, shook Andy by the hand. "Congratulations deputy, on, um, breeding." Norma sat by Lucy, holding her hand. "What are their names Lucy?"

"Well, we both like the letter J, so the boy's name is Jean, and the girl's name is Judy."

Judy began to wail, her high pitched screech tearing at the ears of those present in the hospital room. Lucy smiled. "Judy, because she's singing like Judy Garland." The boy smiled serenely.


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

On the other side of the world a 79-year-old Tibetan Buddhist monk contemplating the ripples on the Lhamo Latso lake saw a vision of two mountains appear beneath the surface of the water. Smoke from the lakeside fires drifted west.

Mulder, Scully and Albert made arrangements for the body of Agent Cooper to be taken back to Washington and buried, only to find that his Will demanded he be cremated and his ashes scattered in Twin Peaks.

In a cocktail bar in Miami, Agent Phillip Jeffries was shouting a warning about Judy, unaware that he was 20 years too early.

Scully began writing her report. She had one dead, mad agent one agent assaulted two missing people a fire, a giant and, perhaps weirdest of all, a transvestite look-a-like of Mulder to explain. Her pen touched the paper and she asked herself: "Am I doing this out of love?"

None of the characters here are my creation, except the journalist Edgar Fitzpatrick (it always bugged me that Twin Peaks had no local reporter). As you're doubtless aware, Mulder and Scully are pinched from the X-Files and everyone else is from Twin Peaks. While the story is entirely my own, it would never have existed without these two wonderful series, their characters and locations. If you haven't seen either of them, then it won't make much sense either.


End file.
